


Angels Fall and Hunters Cry, Part 1

by destielismylovesong



Series: Angels Fall and Hunters Cry [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Parallel Lives, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:36:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielismylovesong/pseuds/destielismylovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pulls his credit card out of his back pocket, hands it to the other man- and jolts in shock when their hands brush against each other briefly. Images, visions, voices, words- memories flood his system all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Fall and Hunters Cry, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> On [Tumblr](http://destielismylovesong.tumblr.com/post/53403182474/angels-fall-and-hunters-cry-part-1)

Dean doesn’t know why he decides to walk into the diner. He’s tired, and hungry, and he doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment just yet. So when he passes by Angels Fall, the new diner in town, he impulsively turns into the parking lot and gets out of his car.

It’s two in the morning, and the lot is empty. If not for the lights and the 24-hour sign blinking brightly, Dean would think that the place is closed. He walks up to the door and pulls it open, the aroma of freshly baking bread hitting him immediately. He already likes this place more than any other dive in town.

The booths are all empty, and Dean hesitates, trying to decide whether or not he should leave, on the off-chance that the owner is a serial killer. He shrugs off the thought. He’s twenty-nine, at his prime, physically fit despite his academic career, with a black belt to boot. There’s nothing to worry about, he assures himself as he approaches the counter.

Except maybe the man who’d just stepped through the kitchen doors and walked up to the register, greeting him with a smile. A beautiful smile, he thinks blankly as it falters, blue eyes that Dean could drown in meeting his own. He generally prefers the ladies, but every woman he’s ever seen in his life is forgotten as he stares at the man in front of him.

He knows him. He knows this man on a visceral level, knows him in his blood, in his soul, in his heart. He knows the crinkles his eyes make when he frowns, and the small smile at the end of his laugh. He knows the smell of coffee in the air is his distinct smell, and the loose backwards tie he wears hits Dean in the gut.

_What the hell is happening_ , Dean thinks dizzily. He wonders if he’s having a psychotic break, which wouldn’t really be a surprise considering the amount of papers he’s graded in the last six hours.

The man across from him tries to smile again but fails. He seems bewildered as well, cocking his head to stare at Dean as if he’s a being from another world. They stand there, looking, until the other man straightens, still looking confused but determined to ignore it.

“What can I get you?” he asks, his tone business-like, impersonal. But Dean can’t stop staring, drinking in every detail he can about the man. The shadows under his eyes indicate his exhaustion, the ink on his hands a remnant of the paperwork he’d probably been handling in the back before Dean had come in. His hair looks freshly fucked, and Dean wonders in jealous annoyance if it actually is.

“Sir?” Castiel- Dean reads from his name tag- looks impatient, and Dean snaps out of it.

“I’ll uh, I’ll take a coffee, decaf,” he mutters, feeling like a fool. “And a slice of pie. Whatever you’ve got.”

Castiel nods and disappears, and Dean waits, listening to the sounds of the other man bustling in the kitchen, getting his order ready. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he reacting like this to a complete stranger? He needs sleep, he tells himself firmly. A solid eight hours, and he’ll be right as rain.

Castiel returns, holding a steaming paper cup and a small box that presumably contains Dean’s pie. He places it on the counter with a small smile, and Dean notices, as he rings up his purchases, that it’s not as easygoing as the one he’d been greeted with.

_Stop. It. You don’t even **know**  him._

“That’ll be four dollars and seventy-eight cents,” Castiel says, and Dean pulls his credit card out of his back pocket, hands it to the other man-

And jolts in shock when their hands brush against each other briefly. Images, visions, voices, words- memories flood his system all at once, and it’s all he can do not to cry out as he reaches to clutch the countertop, anything, to stay standing. Castiel’s hand catches his in a strong grip, crushing his fingers.

“Dean?” he asks, his voice wondering, close to tears.

He’d died in this man’s arms, Dean remembers in shock. Castiel. Cas. His fallen angel had held him as the blood had gushed out of his carotid artery after a demon attack, begging him not to go, not to leave him. He was useless without him, he’d cried, he didn’t need his wings or his grace, he just needed Dean. He’d died with Cas’s lips on his, for the first and last time.

He remembers everything. Everything from this parallel self that exists in another universe, this other life he seems to have lived. A horror, he thinks as the memories continue to rush through him. At least Sammy was there, his brother, his best friend. The shining spots though, the memories that flare not just in his mind but in his blood, his heart, his soul- they’re all memories of Castiel.

Dean touches his arm, the memory of the brand so clear that he looks at it, almost in surprise, when it doesn’t reappear. He remembers every other time Castiel’s hand had revisited him- a comforting hand on his shoulder, two healing fingers on his forehead, a loving hand cupping his face. His fists in his jacket, up against an alley wall. A shove throwing him out of the way of a deadly monster. A hug of greeting and need, shared in another world.

He stares at the man across the counter in wonder. The blood has completely drained out of Castiel’s face, and he stares back at Dean.

Suddenly Dean moves, jumping up and sliding across the counter, in too much of a hurry to come around properly. He’s in Castiel’s personal space, their noses inches away from each other as they continue to simply look, afraid to move, to speak, to touch.

“Dean?” Castiel breaks the silence, repeating his name. His voice is raw, broken, simultaneously filled with grief and wonder. His eyes shine as he swallows tremulously. “Dean, please, I don’t know- I can’t-“

“Cas,” he breathes. “Cas-“

Anything he’d been about to say is lost as Castiel’s lips crush against his, hard, sweet, terrified. Dean responds with a low groan, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in flush against his body. He moves, pushing him gently, and they stumble over themselves until Castiel’s back hits the wall. He arches up against Dean, his hands scrabbling for purchase, finding it in Dean’s hair, running through it desperately, achingly, tracing over the curve of his ears, one thumb at Dean’s temple while the other brushes against his cheek.

Dean breaks the kiss, pulling back slightly. “Cas,” he whispers urgently. “Cas, it’s you, right? It’s you, you’re here, with me. You’re here?” His voice breaks at the last word, and Castiel pulls him in, nudges him with his chin until Dean’s head rests on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m here,” Castiel whispers back in his ear, shuddering when Dean presses a kiss to his throat. “I’m here, Dean, it’s me.”

“How-“

Castiel cuts him off, angling his head back and brushing his lips across his. The kiss is gentle, comforting, belying the desperation Dean can feel in the other man’s body against his. He closes his eyes and lets himself be kissed, caressed, loved, feeling more grounded with each soft touch.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says softly when they finally come up for air. “I don’t know, Dean, but it doesn’t matter.”

Dean reaches for his lips again, unable to help himself. Castiel obliges, murmuring nonsensically against Dean’s lips, comfort and love and home in his kisses.

“Just don’t go,” Dean begs quietly when Castiel’s lips trail across his jaw. “Don’t go. Stay with me, Cas, okay? I need you.”

Dean feels Castiel pausing in his ministrations, then pressing a soft kiss to his throat before leaning back to meet his gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere,” his angel says, conviction burning in his eyes. “Dean-” he feels Castiel’s lips press against his forehead, and his heart aches when Castiel whispers- “you are my  _grace_  and my  _wings_. I will always be here to watch over you.”


End file.
